Amelia
The day started as a promise. A soft one, made in the quiet between sips of coffee and glances that lingered too long. Richard had reached across the breakfast table, brushing his fingers against mine with a warmth that settled something deep in my chest.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he said, already reaching for his jacket. “Someplace with good coffee. Maybe a bookstore. You deserve a day that feels like yours.”
I raised an eyebrow, lips curling. “A bookstore? That sounds suspiciously like a date.”
His mouth twitched into a grin. “Maybe it is.”
The suggestion wasn’t grand. It wasn’t a spectacle. It was the kind of simple, ordinary offer that had become a rare luxury in our lives. Just a day to breathe. A moment of softness in a world that had grown louder with every headline.
And I
